grayson crawford

A  PARIAH:  an  outcast.  |  the world’s a cruel place, with watchful eyes always waiting for your downfall.  they   sneer   &&  poke,   laugh   &&  whisper,  pretend they don’t care but they care too much. 

THIS IS AN INDEPENDENT ORIGINAL CHARACTER “GRAYSON CRAWFORD”  | semi-selective && low activity.  |  21+ preferred as some content might be triggering. | Penned by Stevie. 

Also find me here: @heaimed & @ashenbled

The negative energy pulsating throughout the mini mart was enough to turn Morgan’s stomach. About halfway through their shopping trip, she had wrapped her arms securely around Grayson’s elbow as he pushed the cart along the dimly lit aisles. It was more for her own comfort than for his. Not only were the steely gazes from the squeaky-clean locals enough to make her skin crawl, but everyone’s mind and train of thought were trying to breach the walls of Morgan’s subconscious all at once. The florescent lights hanging above weren’t doing her head any favor’s either. She tried not to let the outside voices bother her, but some were louder and more vile than others. Brother Killer! How can he show his face again after all this time? Has he no shame? That poor woman, she probably has no idea….

Once at checkout, only then Morgan decided to let go of Gray and help load their items onto the conveyor belt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guy and his wife idling behind Gray. She flinched as the front of the asshole’s cart jerks into the base of Grayson’s spine. Gray may not have had a problem with the guy, but Morgan sure as hell did. 

“You might wanna keep both eyes open while you’re walking there, gramps,” she spoke loud enough for anyone in a nearby five-feet radius to here, blatantly intending to call the bastard out on his downright mean behavior. 

“Who the fuck are you calling ‘gramps’?” the stranger retorted with a huff, his face already flushing a bright (republican) shade of red. 

“If you have to ask then I’m sure you already know the answer to your question,” Morgan flashed the man a snide and falsely polite smile as she continued to line her and Gray’s grocery items along the checkout belt. 

The man behind Grayson huffs again then laughs, “It’s nice to see that you finally decided to settle down, Crawford. Shame she’s got quite the mouth on her, though. Maybe you can do the same to her what your father used to do to your mother to keep her in line.” 

Grayson hadn’t wanted to engage but he couldn’t stop Morgan (God knew, even if he tried). He kept his teeth clenched tightly together as he finished putting their items on the belt, wishing he could say fuck it, grab Morgan’s hand, and leave. All they eyes that had been following them throughout the store now stared at the rising scene. A few with ugly, satisfied smirks on their morphed, aged faces. Finally he could see in the beady eyes, someone’s confronting him.

Everything turned dark at the man’s last comment. Grayson’s grip on a bag of chips tightened, the crunch of half the bag echoing in his ears. His dark eyes turned to the asshole, moving from his wife who’s face fell into an outright panic. “That’s enough, Jeff.” She whispered into his ear. But Jeff didn’t seem to hear her. 

Gray forced himself to remain where he was. Forced himself not to round the car and knee the man in his balls. Ever ounce of him wanted to smack the fucker right in the mouth, loosen his crocked teeth, break his big nose. Jeff didn’t back down, his wife cowered behind him. 

“Apologize to her,” Any murmuring in the store abruptly stopped when he spoke. His voice as cold as his eyes. “Right. Now.” 

“Or what? I’m just telling the truth.” Jeff turned his attention to Morgan, “Listen, sweetie. If you were smart, you’d get away from this guy before he actually does shut you up.”

"Do you really want to find out what I am capable of?” He was feeding into his reputation, he knew that. He gave up caring long ago. They’d never change their minds, made up after years of false rumors and twisted lies. They’d morphed his story into a dark retelling and told themselves they had the truth set in stone. 

He could feel every single pair of eyes pressed against every side of him. They followed the two of them down each aisle, their voices a heavy, barely tampered whisper. He’d warned Morgan people weren’t the most fond of him in Everwood. The news of his return would spread faster than a wildfire, eating up the gossip mill for at least a week, add two days for ever sighting. Maybe they would linger on him for an extra week because he wasn’t alone.

He dared avert his eyes from straight ahead and meet the narrowed eyes a woman close to his age. There was a familiar air about her, most likely a former classmate now juggling two blonde kids, the only people in the store not staring at them. The woman held his gaze, no shame in being caught gawking. Grayson gritted his teeth as he looked away. “I think we got everything.” He muttered to Morgan, jerking the cart toward the checkout line.

In normal Everwood fashion, there was only one cashier open and the line was five people deep. He leaned forward on the cart, letting his focus blur, pretend to block out the rest.

They moved forward an inch, someone joined the line behind them. Gray turned to Morgan, his lips turning upward into a sour, vile smile. “Didn’t think it’d be this bad, honestly.” He didn’t want to let the guilt get to him --- he could handle them staring at him with such contempt, but Morgan had done nothing to them. 

Grayson shuffled another few inches forward as the line progressed. When he stopped the cart behind him didn’t, it jammed into his backside, the bottom basket painfully hitting his heel. He jerked around, meeting the eyes of the woman he’d seen earlier, her husband -- another vaguely familiar face -- now pushing the cart. “Got a problem, Crawford?” 

Grayson was crushing her. She winced in slight pain because of how tight their embrace was, but she tried to not let her own discomfort become too obvious, either. As he started to talk more in-depth about Jessie, Morgan stepped back from their hug only to take both of Gray’s hands into her own. “Michael’s favorite color is blue, too,” she offered, an attempt to reassure him that she was still very much listening, “I tried to go vegan one time. But I love cheeseburgers too much and the kind of people that you meet at vegan cafes have a tendency to be nothing but a bunch of pretentious twat-waffles.” 

Childishly, Morgan hoped that the introduction of the word “twat-waffle" into the conversation would be enough to coax out even just a small smile from Gray. 

Taking a careful step backwards, she began to walk in the direction of the main living room, urging Gray to follow her as they journeyed through the darkened flat. When they were close enough to the big sofa that sat at the center of the living area, she guided him further until the two of them were sitting elbow-to-elbow on the couch. “Tell me more about that. Did he want to go to school to become a veterinarian? What was his favorite subject to learn about growing up?” Morgan asked this as she wrapped her both of her arms around Gray’s bicep and affectionately buried her chin into his shoulder. 

He’s in a state of haze, following her without seeing, his mind traveling back to the slowly blurring image of Jessie. The two of them walking home from school after their mother forgot, Grayson caring Jessie on his back as they sprint across the busy intersection. Jessie at eleven years old, pissed off that Grayson selfishly stole his G.I. Joe action and accidentally popped his head off...

( Jessie the night before the tragedy, leaning against Grayson’s door with a sad smile on his face, “I wish we weren’t so angry, Grays” )